Lachrymose
by AuroraWeasley
Summary: "Sometimes, you wonder if the piano is the only thing keeping him sane. / He has scars all along his arms and his thighs. / I know, you whisper, because that's all you can say. " Rated for depression, grief, mention of character death. Companion piece to my story Of Cigarettes and Karma and Irony.


**Title: Lachrymose**

 **Summary: Sometimes, you wonder if the piano is the only thing keeping him sane. / He has scars all along his arms and his thighs. / I know, you whisper, because that's all you can say.**

 **Warnings: Depression, grief, mentions of character death and suicide**

 **A/N: This is a companion piece that deals with the aftermath of my one-shot called Of Cigarettes and Karma and Irony. Can stand alone, but better understood (in my opinion) after reading the other piece.**

 **Backstory: When I use "you" in the story, it is referring to Albus Severus' husband, my OC, Josh Zabini (Son of Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson). "Him/he" is referring to Al. They're both about 31 or 32 in this.**

* * *

You watch as his fingers glide across the black and white keys, groaning out a gorgeous melody. You take a drag of your cigarette as you gaze at him, wondering how he is able to make such a dark song so light and flowy. He's singing along, his melodic voice ringing softly throughout the room.

" _And they say  
She's in the Class A Team  
Stuck in her daydream  
Been this way since eighteen  
But lately her face seems  
Slowly sinking, wasting  
Crumbling like pastries  
They scream  
The worst things in life come free to us."_

You watch him as he's singing. He looks like he's empty inside, barely paying attention to the world around him. He hasn't been sleeping or eating, you know that. You're the one who has to push food into his hands before he'll even take a bite. You're the one who has to hold him up some days because he's so tired. You're the one who's holding him at night just so he'll be able to sleep for even a couple hours.

Sometimes, you wonder if the piano is the only thing keeping him sane.

You don't know when his songs changed from joyous, youthful songs to dark, depressing ones.

He's suicidal, you know that. You caught him trying to tie the rope three weeks ago.

He has scars all along his arms and his thighs. He hates them, and all you want to do is kiss them better.

But instead, you put out your cigarette and tuck your legs up against your chest, before leaning forward slightly and resting your arms on the top of the piano, gazing at the beautiful, beautiful raven-haired man in front of you.

You know he's hurting, and you know he's drowning, and you're not sure exactly what to do except grab his hand to try to keep him afloat. He finishes playing and closes the piano lid before standing up, and promptly collapsing to the ground. You catch him before he hits the floor, sweeping him into your arms.

You silently carry him down the hall, into your shared bedroom. You can't help but notice how light he feels. You feel a pang in your chest because you should've stopped him from getting this bad. You're his everything, you know that.

Ever since his parents moved and his sister died and his brother got busy with his family, he's progressively gotten worse.

You know that. You're his partner. Have been for over a decade. You know how much he's hurting and how badly he wants to give up. You know he's scared to have children because he doesn't want them to turn out like him, but he wants them so badly. You know he can't hold a job because of how bad he's been getting so you've been paying the bills with his parents sending some extra money sometimes. You know you're all he has left now.

But somehow he's still drowning. You know he's not eating or sleeping, and that's why he's sinking.

You lay him on the bed, tucking him in before laying down beside him silently, letting him rest his head on your chest as you wrap your arms around him.

You hear a sob, and you tighten your arms as he turns his face towards you, clenching his teeth and trying so hard not to cry.

Let it out, you murmur, pressing your lips to his forehead and drawing circles on his back.

And so he does.

I miss her I miss her I missher imissher imissherimissherimissher, he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and grip your shirt, drenching it with his tears.

I know, you whisper, because that's all you can say. Over and over and over again, until he falls asleep.

You hear a knock at the door, so you slide out of bed and go answer it, opening it to reveal and bushy-haired woman balancing a toddler on her hip.

"How is he?" She asks as you let her in.

You sigh heavily and shake your head. You're tired, it's draining you to take care of him. "He's not getting better, Rose. I don't know what to do."

She sets down her child and pulls out a card from her pocket. "Here, this is a business card of a wizard therapist in London. Take him to go see her, please." She begs. "He needs professional help or he's going to end up like Lily, and none of us can handle that. Please don't let Al die, Josh. Please." She's begging again.

You nod and give her a hug before going to check on your husband. You lean against the doorway and study his appearance. Even when asleep, he looks restless.

You know he's dying, and you know he needs help.

And you'll be damned if you don't try your very hardest to get that help.

So you pull out the card and dial the number. Because that's the only thing you can do.

And maybe, just maybe, this will help him swim to shore. And he'll finally be okay again.

* * *

 **A/N: Dunno how I feel about this one, I'm not sure I wrote it well enough, plus the ending was definitely weak, but I wasn't sure where to even end it.**

 **Anyways, I hope you liked it!**

 **Please review and let me know if you would like any clarification or if you have any suggestions.**

 **Thanks!**

 **AuroraWeasley**


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